|
|
 Johann Walter: A First Reading Pēteris Bankovskis, Art Critic Kristiāna Ābele. Johans Valters (Rīga: Neputns, 2009) | |
| Mea culpa! I am well aware that when filling in the questionnaire for the previous issue of Studija about the most prominent and significant book of the 2009 I did not name the one book that was really the most noteworthy. But at that time I did not have an inkling that the fantastic result of 10 years of Kristiāna Ābele’s dreams, hunches and efforts was already knocking on the doors of bookstores. Yesterday (10 December) I finished reading the thick and weighty volume, and I am convinced that the collection of Latvian art books, which is not in the least overwhelming, has gained a work for which any yardsticks of “significance” or “noteworthiness” are simply too paltry. Over the years we had, of course, read or heard of Ābele’s discoveries with regard to Johann Walter. If one can speak of any circle of art historians in Latvia, then the expectations and turbulence ahead of the anticipated monograph created a background of some sort of mutual interaction, no matter whether it was conscious or unconscious. Now that the work is finished, the spatial arrangement of the background and foreground must change. We have an example, an exemplum, true to the medieval meaning of this term. Also in the so-called scholastic sense. The layout is flawless. The ‘Introduction’, where the author characterizes herself in the last three lines, as well as describes the style and aspects of genre that helped cultivate the style, is followed by a detailed and, one would like to say, comprehensive historiographic overview. Next, the reader is presented with a text and images that reflect the path, burden and “contribution” of the painter (in reflections and deliberately modest laconism – also that of the human being), if you please, the imprint of the “symbolic capital” which in the material world was known by the name Johann Walter (for some maybe still Jānis Valters), and later Walter–Kurau. This is followed by 21 pages of detailed notes and references to literature and other sources, and an approximately fifteen page long list under the title: ‘Works of Johann Walter in Exhibitions and Auctions’. Next, we can find 11 pages of bibliography and a list of all 417 works, including all the necessary details. A relevant feature for those who do not speak Latvian is a summary of the text and the list of illustrations in German. The book concludes with an index of all persons mentioned in the text. It can happen, and is often the case that a perfectly arranged “scholasticism” does not make much sense. However, in the book by Ābele the scholarly framework holds together a powerful and convincing story, which, most importantly, is supported by facts and analysis over and again. It is a story about the almost non-Latvian Walter who is constantly placed among the three pillars of Latvian painting, and who with his own voice is an original and significant participant in the game where international art canons are created and recreated. A game which does not lack cunning and the sometimes brazen pressing from more powerful (or better paid) players. The game where the public, having been force-fed and fooled by the media, considers as its main manifestation a con which has been fostered for at least a century and which is called by another name – the art market. Kristiāna Ābele has not lost her way amongst the dross and the froth (who learned from whom, who is a follower or epigone of which trends or schools, this line or that in Thieme-Becker’s Lexicon), she is able to chart clear reference points which make it possible for the beloved artist and charmeur to sail into the Ocean of Eternity as a whole personality retaining his headship (kephale, κεφαλή – Gk.), (see the small reprise in the last paragraph of page 54). This heroic feat guided by the heart would not have come to pass if the author of the book had entangled herself in the nonsense of so-called theory, or started a “discourse”, whether it be feministic, post-colonial or structural. Thank God, Latvia is a secluded place, and the writer can safely luxuriate in the intuitive composition of well-researched material. Due to lack of space I am not able to quote the marvellous literary descriptions of the paintings: Meitene ar grābekli zemnieku mājas priekšā (‘Girl with a Rake in Front of a Peasant’s House’) p. 91, Vientuļš ceļinieks (‘A Lonely Traveller’) p. 159, Pavasaris (Bārenīte) (‘Spring (The Orphan Girl)’) p. 168 and 169, Klusā daba ar tulpēm un hiacintēm (‘Still Life with Tulips and Hyacinths’) p. 261, etc. One can only admire the author’s aptitude who does not fail to provide a meaningful description of the textures, the varied brush strokes, and the relationship of painterly qualities and details of the paintings, as well as other aspects pertaining to the craft of painting that would only be known and utilized by a practising painter. One could say that she has been able to convey, clearly and concisely, what she thinks is worth paying attention to in this or that painting. In order to achieve this, the author has not been content with art historians’ jargon, she has used juxtapositions with musical “moments”: “musical scores”, “imperceptible harmony”, “acoustics”, “octaves”, etc. Elsewhere this might seem as empty drivel but in the case of Walter, and possibly that of a first-class violin player, it is a natural aid in explaining one’s feelings while looking at a painting. One would like to hope that the outstanding monograph about Johann Walter will find its readers, not just viewers of the pictures. In writing my first impressions of the book, I would like to draw your attention to a seemingly simple thing: any book can be read in several different ways. For example, Ābele’s accomplishment could be enjoyed as a refreshing balm in the self-flattering environment of “collectors”, as a testimony to the fact that money has not been spent in vain. Fans of serious biographical literature, with some effort, will discern that the book is about a man from a small provincial town who is worth admiring and who might also be a little incomprehensible. Art historians will be able to delve into the locally important issues of canon formation and hierarchy partly in Latvia, but undeniably more significantly in Germany. For me personally, however, the most vivid memory will be the author quite understandably taking offence at Kurt Glaser’s “biased unsparing analysis” (p. 275) and on the next page the poetic supposition about the painting Osta Nīndorfā (‘Port in Niendorf’) as the horizon of the fulfilment of a youthful dream. Just as memorable for me will be the phrases “time itself has been the draughtsman” (p. 293) and “a crooked glass carafe weaves itself into the thick, flaky, grooved texture made by the bristles of the brush” (p. 303). The previous paragraph could also be perceived as a joke. However, what I am really serious about is the fact that in her book about Johann Walter Kristiāna Ābele has, to my mind, been able to prove, believably and convincingly, a point that many are unwilling to hear in these times of modernistic and post-modernist foolery: that the foundation and substance of truly artistic (whatever we may mean by this word) abstraction lies in the observation of nature. P. S. Around the same time when the book was being released, the Latvian National Museum of Art featured an exhibition of Walter’s works1. I wandered through the exhibition and then went up to the second floor where Walter’s work Tirgus Jelgavā (‘Market in Jelgava’) can be viewed in the permanent collection. Such a feeling of light and fullness of the world as can be seen in this graduation composition, done in Ma¬kovsky’s workshop, shall never again be found in Walter’s works. (1) On view in the White Hall of the Latvian National Museum of Art from 20.11.2009 to 10.01.2010. /Translator into English: Vita Limanoviča/ | |
| go back | |
